Almost Angel
by Nationless
Summary: Alfred asked too many questions. Questions that proper society never asks. When he overhears someone say Arthur is an angel, he can't help but to ask the Brit himself. Warnings: implied child abuse


**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and its characters are property of Himaruya

~X~

"Hey dude?"

Arthur turned around to face the young American. His usual grin had been replaced by a slightly worried frown as he looked at his next door neighbor. "What is it, Alfred?" he asked with a sigh.

The Jones family had just moved in a few months prior, and their oldest son, Alfred, was already getting on the Brit's last nerve. He asked questions non-stop, and most of them Arthur didn't even have an answer to. Questions like 'Why are your eyebrows so large?' and 'What's with the black eye?'. It wasn't something you could explain to a near stranger.

"Matthew heard from Francis that you were an angel," Alfred started, keeping his sky blue eyes fixed on Arthur. "So why is it that you don't have wings?"

Instantly, Arthur flushed scarlet. That damn frog… He was still telling those stupid little tales after all this time. "Francis is a liar," he muttered, pulling his jacket tighter around his frame.

Francis and Arthur had known each other for over a decade, ever since they were five years old. An incident with Arthur's father had begun the whole 'angel' thing, and yet… Francis was still talking about it to anyone who would listen.

Disappointment darkened the teen's gaze. "So you aren't an angel?"

Arthur pursed his lips, debating the merits of actually telling this near-stranger, who was really too young to be hearing about such traumatic things. "My wings were torn off," he finally replied. "I lost them when I fell."

Alfred's mouth dropped open in amazement. "So you were an angel. Do you have scars where your wings used to be?"

Yes. Yes, Arthur did. He nodded stiffly. "Tell your brother to stay away from Francis," he warned as he started up the walkway to his house. "I don't want to be hearing you talk about angels again, either."

"Wait!" Alfred's grip caught Arthur's sleeve, completely stopping the older blond. "Can… Can I see them?"

Arthur stopped, and stared at him. In the back of his mind, he recognized the fact that he was fifteen, and really still a child. One he barely knew, at that. But still…

He sighed. "Come with me," he instructed. "I'll show you, but only if we're inside."

Alfred instantly brightened, jumping over the fence that separated their yards. "Awesome, man," he cheered, clinging right back on to Arthur's jacket.

Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes. Why he was doing this, he had absolutely no idea. Still, he led the American up to his room, making sure the door was securely locked before turning to face him.

Alfred had made himself quite comfortable on his bed, and was watching Arthur intently with wide eyes.

"Now, before I tell you, you have to swear that you won't tell anyone," Arthur stated, holding up a finger as a warning. "Do you understand?"

Al nodded eagerly. A wide grin curved his lips as if this was the most exciting thing ever.

It was embarrassing, to say the least. The 'wings' were the mark of Arthur's biggest shame, and here was this _boy_ about to look at them. Slowly, he shrugged out of his jacket before pulling at the hem of his t-shirt.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

Arthur glanced over to see Alfred blushing furiously, yet riveted, eyes wide. "You wanted to see the angel scars," he replied. "Where did you think they would be, my foot?"

He tried to stutter out a response, but all Alfred managed to do was incoherently string a bunch of unfinished words together.

Arthur huffed in irritation. He then turned around and pulled the shirt completely over his head in order to shut him up.

Silence. Neither of them said a word. Arthur knew exactly what the other was seeing: two vertical scars running parallel to his shoulder blades. Time hadn't faded them in the slightest. The fact that Arthur had gone out and gotten black wings tattooed next to them wasn't helpful though. The feathers grew directly from the scars, as if they actually were his wings, curving about his back.

After several moments of absolute quiet, Arthur could hear Al moving off of his bed. Heat started to radiate against his back, and he realized that Alfred was standing directly behind him.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, unable to move.

As a response, Alfred placed a gentle kiss between the scars. "You really are an angel," he murmured against the skin.

Warmth flooded the Brit's skin. He could feel the blush radiating down his neck. "Not anymore," he retorted, keeping up the pretense that he had 'fallen from Heaven'. It didn't matter that the American was fifteen; if he wanted to believe in angels, Arthur wasn't going to tell him otherwise.

Alfred wrapped his arms around the older teen's waist, resting his forehead against Arthur's shoulder. "Always."

That's when Arthur felt the tears, both of theirs. Arthur's slipping down his own cheeks, and Alfred's falling down his scarred shoulder.

"You are the sweetest, most irritating boy I have ever met," Arthur said, keeping his voice even. After years of practice, the tears weren't even audible.

"I can't tell if that's a good thing, or a bad thing," Alfred admitted. His voice broke in the middle of his sentence, giving away the fact he was crying.

A bittersweet smile turned Arthur's lips as he placed his hands over Al's wrists. "It's the best thing," he assured the American. "Better than the angels…"

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, neither of them wanting to break their somewhat awkward embrace.

"Is this why you don't have a dad?" Alfred eventually asked, breaking their silence. "Because you're an angel?"

Arthur leaned his head back, looking at the ceiling. It was a complicated question. His father was no longer allowed on the premises, after the cops were finally called on him. "I'm an angel because of my father," he said, realizing the truth in his words. "We become who we are because of the people we care about."

"Maybe I'll become an angel too," Al said. "Just like you."

Arthur didn't reply. Once again, his face warmed with a faint blush. He couldn't bear to say 'no'. Not after today. Maybe Alfred could be an angel, though. Not like Arthur, hopefully, but… Maybe he could be the angel the Brit needed.


End file.
